Cole: The Wounded Sons by Leah Sharelle (recommended ebook reader .TXT) 📕

in line to be let in, her excited babble a strangely comforting distraction from my relationship status.

Was I still his girlfriend? Probably not. I had ghosted him, blocked him on Skype, ignored his texts, and run off from my boss and job. I wasn’t proud of myself for leaving Memphis high and dry without any notice, and I missed her very much. I missed our chats and our walks through the compound’s gardens. Missed listening to audiobooks with her in her suite, snuggled up on her bed with Jasper at our feet, snoring softly.

Most of all, I missed being part of a real family. Up until the disaster of The Talk, as I now referred to it as, the Club had really opened their arms to me. Thanks in part to Memphis, Wren and her crew. Watching soft porn movies such as Christian and Massimo was never the same without Devon’s constant running commentary. That woman had the same oversharing problem Thayer possessed.

With a rueful grin, I followed my exuberant bestie through the burgundy curtains just inside the main door and braced myself for what was about to transpire. Knowing Thayer, that could be just about anything.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, Thayer, no more buying me lap dances,” I protested loudly over the thumping music. Taking another napkin from the table, dipping it in my glass of ice water, I wiped off the slobber the last dancer had left on my neck.

An hour ago, I had the good sense to switch from Vodka Cruisers to ice water. Thayer didn’t, and now she was so wasted I was worried and scared for the safety of the strippers she lured to our table with her abundance of cash.

“No more?” Thay wailed, her face scrunching up in an adorable drunken pout.

“Are you crazy, lady? We need more, more dicks, more bare chests … more dicks!” Waving a fifty in the air, Thayer whistled through her teeth, getting the attention of a muscular dancer, with a man bun and dressed in a sparkly silver speedo-looking contraption barely covering his mammoth package.

Oh Lord, save me from her sins, show mercy on me, and I promise to spend the rest of my life serving you.

“What can I do for you ladies?” the unnaturally hung man asked, coming up to our table, resting his … area on the edge of the table.

“My friend here would like to have you sit in her lap and grind on her,” Thayer slurred, looking not at his face but at his … area, shoving the fifty into the front of it like a seasoned pro. And going by the smirk on the hunk’s lips, he didn’t mind being handled at all.

“Wait! What?” I choked, “No, no more!” But I was too late, and my lap was suddenly straddled, a bare arse on my thighs and an overpacked crotch sitting directly over my jean-covered mound.

“What do you want, darlin’? Ask, and you shall be done.” His crude double entendre making my skin crawl as much as his naked body sitting on me was.

“You can get off me, for starters,” I seethed, pushing my hands against his greased up chest in an attempt to get him off me.

“Get you off, you mean, don’t ya, baby?” he smirked, licking his lips suggestively.

Ducking my head to look around his large frame, I narrowed my eyes at Thayer, ready to give her a piece of my mind, only to find her staring over my shoulder. Her mouth opened, eyes wide and still glassy from the alcohol, but it wasn’t her ‘oh my god, look at that hunky specimen’ look. It was her ‘holy fuck, I am in trouble’ look.

Oh Lord, what now?

“No! She means, get the fuck off her lap right fucking now, or I will drag you out the back and beat the living shit out of you for even daring to put your fucking grubby hands on my girlfriend.”

My hands froze on the dancer’s pecs, my nails digging into his skin at the sound of the voice that followed me in my dreams every night. Only, in my dreams, his voice was not hard and laced with vibrating anger.

Rolling my eyes to the heavens, I redacted my offer of service and instead prayed for a natural disaster. Flood or a plague of insects would do—anything that could stop me from turning around and looking into those onyx eyes I loved so much.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

COLE

My intel had to be wrong. No way was Oaklee at Body and Souls on Girls’ Night. No fucking way!

Back in the country for two days now, I’d spent every second of the past forty-eight hours with eyes on Oaklee. Once Dad found out where she’d gone to, with some help from Ford and him hacking into Oaklee’s bank account, we discovered she had an income coming in from a rental property on the other side of town.

A house she rented out to her parents.

Hearing that he’d found her helped ease some of my crazy, being so far away and basically fucking helpless.

That was when Booth took over, he put two prospects on the house, taking shifts watching her from a safe distance, while I took care of business in the jungles of the Congo, having to be content with spasmodic updates, when the connection allowed. That had been the worst of the last few weeks. Hearing one day that Oaklee’s parents had a raging party that went well into the morning, the prospect reporting that Oaklee slept one night in the backseat of her dad’s car, then nothing for days because we had to go black.

Never in my life had I felt so useless; my hands were tied, I couldn’t do anything but wait for the next update on my girl when I got back to the civilisation of the temporary base.

During the time the team and I were out of range, I kept myself busy with hours of recon missions, desperate to find our target, take